


The Stone's Rejects

by Toshi_Nama



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Casteless Dwarves, Darkfic, Dwarven Carta (Dragon Age), F/M, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:41:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26338141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toshi_Nama/pseuds/Toshi_Nama
Summary: No one cares about a Duster except a fellow Brand. That's the way of things. There's no way out, and the only way up is through the Carta - either by guile, by violence, or by sex.It should have been different. They could have made it different.
Relationships: Jarvia/Male Brosca
Comments: 10
Kudos: 7
Collections: Black Emporium 2020





	The Stone's Rejects

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jarakrisafis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/gifts).



He remembered the hot, sweaty feel of her skin against his as she whispered dirty things in his ear. He remembered the way her nails would score his back as she came, how her mouth felt around his cock, and the allure of the surface perfume she liked to dab between her breasts.

He remembered her eyes bright with fervor as she cursed the Noble Caste who claimed they were better but used the Dusters as their bloody hands. He remembered the way Beraht kept one arm over her shoulders any time he saw them talking.

 _It’s ok to fuck her, but she’s mine._ The bastard made that clear - and if he ever stepped out of line, he’d known who’d pay for it.

He remembered the wild relief at Behrat’s blood sliding down his dagger; the joy that they’d be free of him. The two of them could do something amazing with the Carta, he knew it then.

He remembered the Warden interrupting his conversation with the dickless guards who were all bark, no bite - and the way he’d had to leave. He remembered promising to come back as soon as he could and hoping the words reached her. Jarvia had ears all over Orzammar. Half of Behrat’s success came from her wicked intelligence and knowledge of where each and every body was buried. She’d hear. She’d plan.

He remembered how he’d used the excuse of the treaties to come back. No surfacer could find him in Dust Town - not if he wanted to vanish. He knew everyone, and a Duster had no reason to trust some _human._ They didn’t even trust each other.

He remembered leaving word where he could, wanting to hear from her - wanting to see her. He’d ached for everything Beraht was too stupid to appreciate. Her wickedness. Her abandon in bed. Her brilliant mind. All Beraht had cared about was the coin she had flowing through his coffers and the status symbol, the fool.

Faren looked around the luxurious room - the fifth time he’d been here. The first was to join. The second was when Jarvia talked him into fucking on Beraht’s desk. The third was getting chewed out for something, he didn’t give a shit.

The fourth time, he’d killed Beraht and bought freedom for himself, Rica, and Jarva.

He wiped his bloody dagger on his pants, looking at the bright blue eyes beneath him one more time.

“Guess I’m the fool, Jarvia,” he told the corpse already cooling on the fancy rug from somewhere. That was the life of the Carta - random meaningless luxuries carpeting over the Stone that shat them out. “Maybe Leske was right, and I shouldn’t have come back.”

Maybe then she’d still be alive.

Maybe then he’d still be able to dream about the Carta they could have made, if that Warden hadn’t gotten in the way.

Sod it all.

“Farin?”

He left his other dagger in her heart - it was all he’d ever wanted, and here he was ending it forever. Guess that meant at least he knew it would never wind up given to anyone else? He was reaching, he knew. He knew who he’d loved, and that Jarvia would give her body, give her mind - but she would keep her heart. 

His empty fist clenched.

“Let’s go and tell the Blighted Deep Lord we did what he wanted,” he said, tasting bile, “just like a good Duster always does.”


End file.
